El Conquistador
by Crewshanks
Summary: Spain was a Conquistador and he wouldn't consider changing any time soon.


Even with the blood dripping from my hands and the massacre I had created, no remorse was felt from my actions. I felt calm, in peace and even with the knowledge of the pain I had caused others, my mind seemed to block out the utter brutality of it all.

I felt like an artist. An artist with a murderous streak, but one with creativity and enough imagination to come up with marvelous ideas. The red seemed to flow from the mouths of the people and stand out amongst the gray background, hair staining red and the bluish tint forever imprinting on their pale skin.

The rational part of my mind had protested - _This is wrong! I can't-_ you _can't do this! It isn't right! -_ but I had ignored it, deeming the words useless. I knew what I was doing. I was creating an image built of my own perceptions of the world, the way I simply saw things.

People say that I am different and I agree. I say that I am different because I know that I am. I have grew up with the highest of expectations and a craving for blood, forcing my way through history by conquering and taking for my own gain.

...

"There have been no survivors as of yet, Captain. Shall we consider-"

"Take the gold, store it on the ships and return home. Make sure that if there are any survivors, dispose of them immediately. If you come across any women and children, keep them as prisoner and lock them in the cells."

"But Captain-" My grip tightened on my axe and with my other hand, lightly ghosted my fingers over the harquebus strapped to my side.

"Go. Now!"

Hearing footsteps rushing off behind me, I smiled and knelt down, twirling the pool of blood beside a body - a dead child to be exact, not much older than 12. Barely a kid, barely a man. Still held in the grasp of youth, not yet experienced in the field of pain and suffering. His death was quick - a shot to the head, the wound bleeding heavily and coating him in a lovely shade of red. His family was a pain to deal with - all screamers and criers. The boy, even if he had gone through such pain, hadn't made a noise. He would have made a great soldier. Too bad he hadn't cooperated, too stubborn to leave and come along with him and his soldiers. Probably knew that he wouldn't have survived anyway, not at his age.

The monsters would have gotten to him, leaving him dead on the inside and becoming a monster of his own self-hatred.

My armour was coated in blood, the silver that was once shining and polished turning red, black and grimy with every slash my axe made as it came down. Down, down, into the hearts of my enemies! Pain laced into their eyes and screams tearing out of their vocal chords, they flailed and lashed out, trying to get a hit but instead bringing themselves closer and closer to death with every movement. I had told them to stop- _"If you move, the closer the Grim Reaper comes from tearing you limb from limb!"_ -but had they listened? No, they were too full of grief and a deep sadness to do so, knowing that this was their last day on Earth. Their precious world that had been destroyed by centuries of war and bloodshed.

...

Some people would call my artwork an abomination. A figment of a twisted mind, broken and bent, cracked from all of the battles it had fought -not only physically, but mentally as well- and it was shown in graphic detail through the carnage it had brought with it.

The red had turned into a gaping black, an abyss that swirled deeper and deeper into a never-ending madness. The black was a disturbance amongst the red and blue and purplish veins that crawled up the necks of the deceased, the lifeless eyes piercing deep into my soul.

_What soul? You should know that monsters don't have souls, just like they have no feelings and a heart that has gone cold. Everyone knows that you are the epitome of soulless._

"Shut. Up." I growled under my breath, not wanting to believe the words that haunted my entire being.

Slamming the axe head into the muddy ground, I collapsed to my knees in the blood of the dead. Looking up at the sky, the blue disappearing behind the clouds as rain settled in, I whispered-

"What do you want me to do now, Rome? I have become an empire, just like I said I would-

...

_"Rome! Rome!" a little boy shouted, running across the plains to where the man in question stood. Rome turned around and smiled, leaning down to ruffle the brown curls._

_"What is it, little one?" Rome had always found the child to be amusing, finding his childish curiosity endearing. Green eyes turned to look up at him, and the boy smiled._

_"I am going to be a great empire like you one day! I am going to be the best there ever was!" The excitement in the boy's voice made him chuckle. _

_"If only you don't become greater than me, Hispania..." The boy hugged him tightly and his face became determined._

_"I won't, I promise! You'll still be the greatest empire the world had ever known!"_

...

-but what now? I have stolen and slaughtered and with that I don't feel so great anymore." Feeling a drop of rain at the tip of his nose, he sighed. Shifting slightly, he stayed where he was, not moving an inch. He didn't want to disturb the dead - after all, he wasn't _that_ heartless.

He was Spain, a Conquistador that did what he did in the name of God and he wouldn't consider changing any time soon.


End file.
